Paperclips
by Li'l Lawliet
Summary: Ninamori sighed and put another paperclip down on the desk, not liking the click of cheap metal and laminate. One for every time she’d succeeded, that was the rule. Oneshot, onesided NinaNao. For my sister, who acts like Ninamo-sama.


Yay for FLCL! This was actually the first anime I ever watched. The manga is totally awesome too, and neither of them makes any sense at all! Yay for no sense!

**I totally don't own FLCL, even though I totally want to. Wouldn't that be awesome? I'd have a cult following and everything!**

And, yes, for those of you who have seen the documentary 'Paperclips,' this is dedicated to the people who lost their lives in WWII.

Ninamori sighed and put another paperclip down on the desk, not liking the click of cheap metal and laminate. One for every time she'd succeeded, that was the rule.

She spun around in her chair and flicked off the bedside lamp that dully lit the room. It was past three in the morning, and she wanted to wake up some time before noon.

Restlessly she turned under the covers. What was bugging her so much? Memories of what it'd been like before she had to be an adult seeped back inside her head. But then, she'd always been an adult. She'd worn an emotional mask, really hoping no one would notice how much she actually cared. Looking back, she wished she acted like a kid when she was allowed to.

_Childhood crushes are hard, aren't they?_

_Why do I care so much? _She asked, rolling over and staring at the ceiling now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. One paperclip for everything she'd succeeded at. She'd been the top student at every school she'd been to. She'd graduated from a top-notch college, moved on to graduate school, and become a lawyer. After quitting her job (since the rate of crime went down drastically in 2023 with the mass bombings), she'd developed a publishing company. Very popular.

What _hadn't _she succeeded in?

She turned over again to stare at the wall. Too many things. Paperclips, paperclips, paperclips. There were definitely too many things she'd never succeed in.

She would never admit the flying dream she had about Naota.

_No, no, _she thought, shaking her head against the pillow. _That's not it… See, because that wasn't a dream_. _Wasn't everything easier back then?_

A little voice in her head answered _No, _and she knew it was right. Things weren't easier then---things were insane. She could never tell _what _the heck was going on in that town. _Too back it was destroyed, _she thought through a tired haze. She didn't want to go to bed just yet. She felt as if she were just about to discover something---maybe something she'd held inside all these years. She groggily sat up and turned the bedside lamp back on. She slid out of the loft bed and walked sleepily over to the tall bookcase. Fingering through the spines of many books, she came across what she was looking for. She grasped the thin black and white yearbook, and slid it off of the walnut shelf.

Ninamori cracked open the book and smelled the unmistakable scent of paper that had never been touched. She flipped the laminated pages until she found what she was looking for. She touched her fingers to the paper just underneath the name 'Nandaba Naota'.

A twelve-year-old boy frowned back at her. The creases never seemed to leave his forehead, where his eyebrows knitted together in frustration. Did he ever smile? Ninamori fumbled around on her desk for the red-rimmed glasses she'd been afraid to wear back in grade school. She slid them onto her nose and looked at the paper again. She seemed to recall they all gave one quote to the yearbook.

She stared beneath his name, and she could barely make out the tiny font that said, 'I'm glad it's over.'

"Hm," she muttered, leaning away from the book she'd been hunched over, "Me, too."

Ninamori spun the chair around and stood up to get back in bed. Tomorrow, she'd give a call to the Nandaba residence, even if there was no point to it. After all, no one had seen Naota since that year.

She just hoped he would call back.

Call back to let her know he's living.


End file.
